Jupiter Winter — A Very Sufjan Christmas

I have a thing for songs that purposely manifest features of two opposing states like light and dark, or joyous and mournful. Even better when the juxtaposition makes you scratch your head at first.

The first fifteen seconds or so of “Jupiter Winter” are suspenseful with their dark strings backed by foreboding piano; a cinematic, dread-inducing texture that sets the scene for something intense, even frightening. It’s a stark contrast to the preceding tracks on the album, which are all joyously upbeat or at least twinkling and beautiful, and the perfect transition to the raw and heartbreaking “Sister Winter.”

I remember listening to “Jupiter Winter” for the first time ten or so years ago and feeling a little disappointed when that opening dissipated into a pretty standard Christmas song. The first verse is all about the nativity, and after 30 seconds or so, even the strings are left behind in favor of sleigh bells and Sufjan’s triumphant and ever-present horn section. The rest of the song alternates between that reduced spookiness of the verses and a cheerful chorus, a dichotomy marked by the verse’s inorganic beat (and stuttering static at the very end) versus the chorus’s natural, soaring strings, the sleigh bells, the harmonious vocals.

Ten years ago, I had complicated feelings about Christmas. I had very recently refused outright to accompany my parents to their Christian church, where I spent a large chunk of my first 17 years. I was frequently blogging about agnosticism. I had uncharitable thoughts about faith in general and Christianity in particular. It was a little difficult to reconcile this with my newfound fascination with the outspokenly God-loving Sufjan, creator of my new favorite album, The Age of Adz. Even Seven Swans, with its apocalyptic Revelations imagery and retelling of a murderous Flannery O’Conner short story, raised no alarm.

But the Christmas stuff was hard to reconcile, in the same way I struggled to accept the unabashed love I’d always had for the holiday. My memories of my family’s quirky German traditions were full of happiness and warmth: leaving a shoe out on Nikolausabend and finding it full of treats the next morning, baking cookies with my aunts, opening presents on Christmas eve by a roaring fire, even begrudgingly joining with my parents in singing a few hymns and listening to my father read the nativity story from Luke. I felt betrayed in a way, having been forced all those years to go to church multiple times a week, forced into these strange made-up motions, like all that time and energy and emotion had been thrown into a void, and now I was left with guilt and confusion and a hatred of seasonal tunes.

I’ve chilled out a lot on religion, and I think Sufjan is primarily responsible for that. His faith is so accepting, so love-forward, that it’s inspiring even as a nonbeliever. There’s nothing inherently wrong with belief in God, I don’t think, nor with tradition. These things exist because they provide comfort and joy in a world that’s often painful, foreboding, full of dread and doom. It’s just hard sometimes to look past the polarization of a day like Christmas. Maybe it shouldn’t be easy!

Nowadays, it’s become my tradition to play Songs for Christmas and Silver & Gold pretty much as soon as I wipe off my Halloween corpse paint. It’s something I’ve shared with others (to mixed reviews) and something I’ve really come to love. It brings me joy uncomplicated by that residual guilt.

Still, when I listen to “Jupiter Winter,” there’s a rush of feelings, both positive and negative. Good and bad, the way faith can be, the way a holiday can be.

Kit Riemer is a writer, photographer, and general person of ill repute. You can find more of their writing at interstice.neocities.org and more of their personality in general at @slugzuki on Instagram, Twitter, etc.